Broken Branches
by unicorn-skydancer08
Summary: Baatar Jr. wonders if he can still be part of the Beifong family after he cut himself off.
1. Part 1: Father and Son

**BROKEN BRANCHES**

_Knock, knock! Anybody home? Yes, yes, I'm aware of how __insanely__ long it's been since I posted anything here. Sorry, mates, but that's life for you._

_Fortunately, I got a bit of a spark now. You may not have noticed, but I've become quite intrigued by the animated _Avatar_ series. I have all three seasons of _The Last Airbender_ on DVD, and now I intend to collect the entire _Legend of Korra_ series. (I already have "Air" and I'm requesting "Spirits" from Santa.) I was quite impressed with the finale yesterday. Oh, it wasn't totally flawless, to be sure; there were some things I wish we could have seen, but, unfortunately, there's only so much they can fit in one episode. Everything else is either clarified in a comic or left to the audience's imagination._

_I, for one, wanted to see at least a little more of Baatar Jr. with his family. Say what you will about the young man, but his estrangement with his family was one of the things that had me so hooked. I really wanted to see how this "prodigal son" story would play out. My heart just about leaped at the scene with his mother, when he finally saw the error of his ways and made a heartfelt apology. It would have been nice to see some reaction from his dad, brothers, and sister. I know they've got a long way to go before things are truly set right, but still, yeah._

_So I decided to take matters into my own hands. This marks my first fan story with chapters since...ever! _

_For those of you who have yet to watch the show, read at your own risk. _

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><p><strong>Characters © <strong>Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino<strong>**

**Story ****©** unicorn-skydancer08****

**_All rights reserved._**

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><p><span><strong>PART 1: FATHER AND SON<strong>

Baatar Jr. stood outside his father's office. Though the door was closed, he knew his father was in there, as he always was this time of day. Besides, there was no mistaking the sounds coming from the other side.

Baatar closed his eyes, took a slow breath and just as slowly let it out. Though he considered himself a cool, levelheaded person, at least most of the time, right now his legs felt ready to give way beneath him and his stomach made him feel like something from breakfast disagreed with him.

_You're only kidding yourself,_ that little voice wouldn't stop nagging. _He'll never believe you. He'll never listen. You're just wasting your time—and his._

Baatar shook his head.

His mother might have welcomed him back with open arms, as was to be expected of mothers, but his father was a different story. Even now, his father's last words rang in his ears as clearly as if they had been spoken only a minute ago:

_"I'm so disappointed in you, Junior." _

As quiet and aloof as those words had been, Baatar would almost have rather heard his father shout in his face that he hated him, that he no longer considered him his son, that the very thought of him now made him sick.

_And it would have been the honest-to-Raava truth, too,_ Baatar thought dismally, his shoulders sagging a little more.

He had disgraced his parents in about the worst way imaginable, all but hauled the good Beifong name through the mud.

Kuvira must have had Vaatu's Tongue when she first told him of her plans for the Earth Empire, and he had been stupid enough to go right along with her, to believe from the start that the two of them were in the right. Now that Baatar truly thought of it, he realized he hadn't done this for the sake of the Earth Empire, but instead for his own selfish desires—out of pure spite toward his parents.

Here, he'd thought, was his chance to make something useful of himself without his parents' interference.

All his other siblings got to choose what to do with their lives. Huan had his art. Opal had her newfound airbending. Wei and Wing had the makings of excellent athletes. And he had been stuck being his father's assistant. Not that the work itself didn't have its rewards—but his father eclipsed him in just about everything, including his name. Everyone only knew him and accepted him because of his father. He always had to make a good impression and could never afford mistakes. It reached the point where he would have sold his soul in a heartbeat just to get out of the confines of Zaofu.

Now that he had finally seen for himself that he was wrong, that he had been nothing more than a Pai Sho tile in Kuvira's hands, he'd had no other option but to run away, kill himself, or come crawling back to his family.

He still couldn't get over the way his mother stayed by his side and cared for him after Kuvira almost obliterated him along with Korra and the others. He could still see Suyin hovering over his cot, hear the sheer warmth in her voice as she told him, "Just rest, son. I'm here."

He still couldn't believe Suyin would talk to him at all after he told her to her face that Kuvira was the only person he considered "family." Just thinking about the way he'd hurt his mom, the one person who loved him and knew him better than anyone else in the world, made him flinch on the spot.

How much more had he hurt his dad, whom he had ordered to be taken and locked up like a criminal?

_What must Dad think of me now? What else can he feel toward me anymore but pure disgust? _

The young man almost turned away from the door, but he forced himself to stand his ground. Sucking in another deep breath, determined to do this before his courage failed him (and he seriously doubted he would ever find that courage again), he lifted his fist and gave a decent knock.

He expected no answer, but the door opened almost immediately.

His father, appearing well and lively in spite of his ordeal, gave quite a start at the sight of him. The surprise was short-lived, however, and genuine softness filled the elder's face and voice.

"Hello, son."

A plethora of words tumbled through the younger Baatar's mind, but all he could get out of his mouth was a very subdued, "Hi, Dad."

For a long time, neither of the men spoke.

They just gazed into one another's faces, the young Baatar wishing that his dad would say something, anything. He tried to speak himself; he had rehearsed his speech countless times, and yet he couldn't get his voice to cooperate.

Finally, the elder Baatar stepped forward, his eyes shining in a strange way behind his glasses. Before Baatar Jr. could react, his father had him in his arms, clinging to his boy like he had no intention of letting go.

That did it.

The young Baatar's entire composure turned to soup. Now his legs really couldn't hold him anymore; he might have ended up flat on the floor had his father not been there. His own arms found their way around his father's body, and he squeezed with every ounce of strength he could muster. He screwed up his face and just cried and cried, as he hadn't since he was a baby.

"Sorry, Dad," he could barely get out between sobs. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm so sorry. Dad, I'm so sorry."

He must have apologized this way twenty times or so in a row; no one bothered to keep count.

And all Baatar Sr. had to say in response was, "I know, son. I am, too."


	2. Part 2: Private Talk

**BROKEN BRANCHES  
><strong>

_Welcome back, mates. I finally figured out the next chapter for this sucker (as tempted as I was to leave it as a one-shot), so here you are!  
><em>

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><p><strong>Characters © <strong>Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino<strong>**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

**_All rights reserved._**

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><p><span><strong>PART 2: PRIVATE TALK<br>**

Baatar sat alone in the dining hall. Though a full platter of food rested in front of him, he spent more time poking it than eating it.

Even now, it was very strange to be eating at his family's table. For that matter, he felt odd being in his family's house once more. The feeling, while not entirely unpleasant, was far from the most comfortable.

As Baatar toyed with his kale, breaking the fresh leaves into increasingly smaller pieces, he heard someone ask, "Is this spot taken?"

With a start, he lifted his head to find Huan standing beside him, holding his own platter and glass. Astonished to see his artistic brother here, of all places, but deciding to take this as a good omen, Baatar nodded and answered softly, "Pull up a seat."

Huan was already settling into the spare chair on Baatar's left side.

"Thanks," the younger boy murmured.

The two boys sat quietly for a while, keeping their eyes fixed mainly on their food. Whenever Baatar stole a sidelong glance, he noticed that Huan didn't have any more appetite than he did today. Huan only ate a few small bites at a time; once in a while he took a sip of his kale nutsco, but the level didn't go down much.

Finally, just to break the awkward silence, Baatar summoned the nerve to ask, "So…how have you been lately, Huan?"

Huan shrugged. "Can't complain. Not too much, anyway."

"How's your art coming along?"

"Fine. Just fine."

Baatar, who was lifting his glass to his lips right then, put it back on the table and gave his brother a funny look. "Just fine?_ That's_ something I never thought I would hear you say about your craft."

Huan shrugged again, but said nothing and kept his gaze down.

After another minute or so, Baatar gave a loud sigh and shoved his tray aside. With his eyes closed, he removed his glasses with one hand and lifted the other hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"Why don't you just say it and get it over with, Huan?" he asked.

Now it was Huan's turn to regard his brother with a queer expression. "Say what?"

"Anything you're thinking about right now. Say that I'm the biggest idiot ever bred in Zaofu, the most awful backstabber in all the world, the absolute worst brother in all of history." Baatar buried his face in his hands. "Whatever it is, let me hear it. Don't hold back and don't bother sprinkling any sugar. Whatever you think of me, Huan, I know I'm all that and so much more besides."

How much time passed without a word in that dining hall, no one could say. It could have been a minute, ten minutes, possibly a half-hour, and no one would have known or cared about the difference.

All that time, Baatar clutched his head and braced himself for what would surely come pouring out of Huan's mouth.

When Huan did speak, he said in a tone as hushed as ever, "You want to know what I _really_ think, Baatar?"

Baatar said nothing, but his shoulders tensed.

"I think it's just great to have you back here again."

Unsure of whether he'd heard correctly, Baatar slowly withdrew his hands and opened his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I'm glad you're home, Baatar," said Huan, looking his brother straight in the face this time, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper. "I wouldn't have admitted it before…but it hasn't been the same around here without you. Having you back feels like old times. Never realized how much I'd missed those old times, not until now."

Baatar blinked. Half-consciously returning his glasses to their perch, he dared to ask, "You're serious?"

"Do I appear unserious to you?" Huan never turned his head to either side. His gaze remained steady, his expression clear as the cups on the table.

Baatar had a fine time finding his tongue after that, and even then his voice almost failed him again. "After what I did to you? To Mom and Dad? To Opal and the boys? After everything I've done, you actually _want_ me back?"

"Yes."

"But I betrayed you."

"Yes, you did."

"I treated you like a criminal."

"Yes, you did."

"I hurt you, all of you, in about the worst ways imaginable."

"Yes, you did."

"And yet you still consider me your brother?"

Spreading his hands, Huan said, "Brothers fight. They fall apart. They have their share of faults, sometimes more than their fair share. But they're still brothers."

Baatar couldn't recall Huan ever being so profound before, not like this.

As short and simple as the words were, they stirred something in Baatar's core, brought on equal surges of shame and gratitude. A fist-sized lump lodged in the elder's throat, his eyes stung, and he prayed he wouldn't dissolve into a sticky puddle then and there.

Huan continued, "Yeah, I'll be the first to say that you've been a total idiot and a colossal jerk. I won't lie about wanting to strangle you more than once. But I'll also be the first to say how amazing and ingenious you are, and how I couldn't ask for another sibling like you." He emphasized these final words with a mild punch to Baatar's shoulder.

With a small but authentic smile, Baatar lightly punched him back and rejoined, "Says you."

Huan smiled back, a rare smile that really did something for his disparaging countenance. "And I'm never wrong about such things, either."


	3. Part 3: Brothers

**BROKEN BRANCHES  
><strong>

_Looks like I just might be able to finish this thing after all. (Awesome sauce!) For those of you who are wondering about Opal, don't worry. The next chapter will be all about her, I guarantee it.  
><em>

_Then I'm not sure about whether to include Su or not, since Baatar (sort of) made his peace with her in the show. What would you suggest?  
><em>

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><p><strong>Characters © <strong>Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino<strong>**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

**_All rights reserved._**

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><p><strong><span>PART 3: BROTHERS<span>**

After dinner, even though the evening was still fairly young, Baatar went to his room to be alone.

He tried to relax with a good book, but he had a fine time concentrating. Just when he was in the process of turning another page, a knock sounded on his door. Figuring it was only his mom or his dad, he didn't move or look up as he called, "The door's open."

When the door opened and he finally lifted his gaze, he saw, to his genuine surprise, the twins standing there.

Wei spoke first. "Hey," he said in a soft voice, offering a small smile.

After a tongue-tied moment, Baatar managed to answer just as softly, "Hey."

"Figured we'd find you here," said Wing, who stood half-hidden behind Wei. "Hoped you wouldn't mind if we dropped in for a bit."

Baatar blinked, then tentatively closed his book and set it aside. "Er…yeah, sure. Make yourselves at home, guys."

He noticed the twins approached him rather slowly, almost apprehensively, as if he were a bomb just about to go off. The notion made his heart and stomach twist.

Even now, he doubted his siblings fully trusted him—or would ever fully trust him again.

Given his past actions, he couldn't say he blamed them in the least.

But it hurt all the same.

When the twins stood before him, side by side, he found himself rising to his feet almost by pure instinct. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

Wing kept his eyes on the floor, one hand rubbing the base of his neck, while Wei said with only a slight falter in his voice, "Just to talk. We decided it was…you know…time."

Baatar's shoulders drooped, and he found himself looking to the floor as well. "Past time, I'm afraid," he whispered.

He didn't know which of the two boys said, "Sorry we gave you the cold shoulder for so long, Baat."

"Yeah," said the other, "that was pretty stupid of us."

Baatar shook his head fervently. "No, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. _I'm_ the one who acted so stupid. You two had every right in the world to give me the cold shoulder, and more besides. I'm surprised Dad and Mother let me back in the house. For that matter, I'm surprised_ anyone_ will come within ten feet of me, or even look me in the eye anymore."

With a sigh that seemed to stem from the soles of his boots, he resumed his seat and placed his forehead in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Wing," he murmured with his head down. "I'm sorry, Wei. I know you don't believe me, and I know it's not good enough…but I truly am sorry. Sorrier than I've ever been about anything in my whole life."

The twins never hesitated to respond. "Of course, we believe you, Baat."

"And it's good enough for us."

Lifting his head very slowly, regarding his brothers with mingled surprise, hope, despair, and sheer disbelief, Baatar asked, "How can you forgive me as easily as that? I thought you would hate me forever."

"We don't hate you," said Wing, sounding truly surprised and hurt.

"At least, we don't anymore," said Wei with the faintest red tinge in his cheeks.

The fact that they'd had cause_ to_ hate him didn't make Baatar feel any better. If anything, he wished he could curl into a tiny ball and disappear right now.

Fighting to keep it together, though his voice still cracked some, he asked, "So, what made you change your minds?"

"You could say it was a change of heart," Wei said.

Wing added, "We've been doing a lot of thinking lately—"

"Good for the head." The words were out of Baatar's mouth before he realized it. In spite of himself, he had to smile, and this also got a little laugh out of the twins, which helped to ease the tension.

"Anyway," Wing continued, "it dawned on us how much we missed you, how things were never the same around here without you. Even when we acted like we didn't care, we did. More than even we could have imagined or would have believed possible."

"Sure, we were plenty sore at you," added Wei. "Sometimes we would tell ourselves over and over that it would serve you right if you crashed and burned with Kuvira."

Baatar winced at that last part. Though he couldn't bring himself to hate Kuvira, not truly, the name still jabbed his heart like a needle.

The red in Wei's face deepened, but he kept talking. "But for all that, we found we couldn't stop caring about you." At Baatar's quizzical expression, the younger boy shrugged his broad shoulders and turned his palms upward. "We just couldn't. Simple as that."

Wing said, "And Mom must have figured out what we were thinking, because she told us just the other day, 'Everyone makes mistakes, boys. Even me. And I'm your mother.'"

A weighty silence followed this speech.

When Baatar found his voice, he asked, almost inaudibly, "So all _is_ forgiven, then? And forgotten?"

Wei was the first to join Baatar on the couch. "Forgotten, hardly," the boy said. He smiled as he held out his big, callused hand. "But forgiven, definitely."

"_Most_ definitely," Wing chimed in.

Baatar looked at the proffered hand for just a moment. Then he smiled as well and clasped it warmly.

"Thanks, guys—"

To his surprise, Wei used that hand to yank him closer. It was almost a miracle Baatar's arm didn't pop right out of its socket.

The next thing Baatar knew, he was caught in the middle of a tight group hug. Both his brothers held him in such a way that an escape was next to impossible, though he wasn't particularly inclined to go anywhere.

He only smiled and kept still, not even caring that a few tears had already slipped down his cheeks.

But when his ribs started to protest and breathing grew increasingly difficult, he gave a little squirm and rasped, "Uhh…guys? I think you can let go now."


	4. Part 4: Little Sister

**BROKEN BRANCHES  
><strong>

_Here it is, the chapter that most of you have been clamoring for. Hope it meets your expectations, mates. Something wouldn't let me sleep until this was written anyhow.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Characters © <strong>Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino<strong>**

**Story © unicorn-skydancer08**

**_All rights reserved._**

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><p><strong><span>PART 4: LITTLE SISTER<br>**

Had Baatar not talked to his parents and brothers and received their forgiveness so openly, he might never have found the courage to approach the one person to whom he owed possibly the biggest apology of all.

Even so, it wasn't until two days later that he summoned the nerve.

Outside his sister's bedroom, he fought to pull himself together. The door was already ajar, just wide enough for him to see Opal curled up on her bed with something that looked like a letter or report. She never looked his way, likely had no idea he was there in the first place.

If Baatar had been scared at his father's door, he was truly terrified now. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. His legs felt like sodden noodles. His stomach lurched, and he bit his lip hard and prayed he wouldn't throw up.

With his eyes closed and his forehead bowed against the doorframe, he told himself, _It's now or never._

Sucking in the deepest breath his lungs could manage, he nudged the door far enough aside to poke his head into the next room.

"Opal?"

She lifted her head at once. "Baatar?" She looked and sounded only a little surprised to see him.

"May I come in?"

She held back at first, but eventually made a nod of assent. "Sure, come in."

Even then, it cost just about every fiber of Baatar's being to step over the threshold. He didn't see how he made it to Opal, but he made it, and eased himself into the chair that stood closest to the bed. He sat with his long legs spread far apart and his elbows resting against his knees, his hands tightly interwoven in an effort to subdue their trembling.

Opal folded her paper in half and slipped it under her pillow—as if Baatar would have read it anyway—before she sat up. Baatar saw that, unlike him, she was already dressed for bed, though sleep for her appeared unlikely for some time.

Next to her, a bowl filled with fresh moon peaches sat on a small table. She reached for one of those peaches, and then offered the bowl to her brother. "Want one?"

"No, thanks." Less than a minute later, he changed his mind. "Well…maybe just one." So saying, he selected a particularly large, ripe fruit and sank his teeth into it, using his free hand to stem the flow of juice.

He took his time to chew, to enjoy the heavenly flavor. After swallowing, he remarked, "I'd almost forgotten how good these are. Where'd you get these, anyway?"

Opal replied between bites, "Don't tell Mom, but I smuggled these out of the kitchen, just before dinner."

He arched his brows meaningfully at her and waved his half-eaten peach around a bit. "Ahh, a little housebreaker in the house, eh? You're lucky the cook didn't catch you."

She countered, "You're one to talk, mister. Remember when _you_ used to keep contraband treats in _your_ room?"

"Oh-ho, yeah," he said, chuckling heartily at the memory. "And late at night, you and I and the boys would have a real feast. I remember how the cook threatened the very life of the person who'd made off with that extra special egg custard tart."

Opal laughed. "I think he would still seek your blood if he knew."

The laughter died down soon enough, and Baatar found himself focusing on the floor.

When Opal spoke again, she said quietly but with a noticeable hint of coolness, "So, what do you want, Baatar? I know you're here for a reason."

With a deep sigh, Baatar set his peach aside, having lost his appetite.

He took off his glasses and ran his other hand along the whole length of his face several times, flattening his nose and pulling on his goatee. When he set his glasses back in place and looked his sister properly in the eye, he told her in his gravest tone, "Look, Opal, I'm going to be straight with you, all right? Understand that this isn't easy for me to say, but I've been meaning to tell you this for ages. So please, _please_ hear me out. And if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it tremendously if you waited until I've finished talking."

Opal crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the tall stack of pillows. Her expression was inscrutable, but her tone was mellow as she said, "I'm listening."

Even then, Baatar hesitated for another long, intense moment. It seemed to Opal that it might require surgery to get whatever was inside her brother out of him.

At last he said, "I know what you must think of me, Opal. You've hardly kept your feelings toward me a secret, and I just want to say that I don't blame you one bit. I know what I did was wrong, as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise. I know I've been a total jerk, a full-scale traitor, and a rotten brother. No brother could possibly be a worse example to his sister. No brother could have done worse things to his sister. You almost got blown to kingdom come because of me. Twice, in fact."

Though Opal said nothing, her blood turned to ice and her stomach clenched at both nightmarish memories.

She understood, as well as anyone, how lucky she _and_ Baatar were to be breathing now.

Like the contents of a bottle when the cork's gone, everything else came spilling out of Baatar in a steady rush. The emotion in his voice grew with every word. "Nothing will ever make what I said and did right. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, to everyone. I'll understand completely if things can never be the same between you and me. If you want nothing to do with me anymore, I won't hold it against you. Still, I want you to know how truly, truly sorry I am, Opal. I could never regret my actions more than I regret them now. I don't ask for your pity, your concern, or your love, only your forgiveness…if there is any to obtain."

The silence that followed this speech was almost deafening.

For a long time, the two siblings stayed where they were, staring at one another. Baatar was breathing hard and his heart was all set to burst from his chest. At the same time, he felt the tiniest bit of relief for having given voice to all of this; he had never realized just how much it had been weighing on his chest until he'd got it off.

Finally, her own voice little more than a whisper, Opal said, "Well. It must have taken a load of guts to say that to my face."

With a lopsided smile, Baatar rejoined, "A shipload of them."

"Must have been really tough, keeping all those things shut up inside you all this time."

"You have _no_ idea. I'm worn out already and it's not even ten o' clock."

"I never thought I would hear such an apology from you. Better yet, I never thought I'd see your face around here again."

"To tell you the truth, neither would I." Baatar's shoulders sagged and his head hung to his chest as if his neck were broken. "Looking back," he murmured, "I can't believe I had the nerve to up and leave to begin with."

For the first time, Opal's eyes filled past the brim, and a crack split her voice like brittle glass. "How _could_ you leave us, Baatar?" she blurted. "How could you just cast us aside like we meant nothing to you anymore? How could you leave us behind, leave _me_ behind? How could you have allowed yourself to get so swept up in Kuvira's scheme? _How?_"

Baatar sighed again and buried his face in his hands. He shook his head several times before slowly taking his hands away and readjusting his glasses. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost impossible to hear, and laced with tangible pain.

"Believe it or not, Opal, I've been asking myself just that. Almost nonstop, in fact. Like I just told you, I know what I was doing wasn't right, though I was so sure at first that Kuvira and I were _in _the right."

Opal sniffed and brushed her sleeve futilely across her eyes, but she made no interruption.

With his gaze on his feet, Baatar continued morosely, "I don't know what happened to me. As you know, I got sick of living in Mom and Dad's shadow. It seemed to me that everyone only noticed me and appreciated me because of my parents. Being the oldest does this to you, I guess, but it felt like I had to do absolutely _everything_ right, better than right. I always had to make an impeccable impression—not just for the people inside and outside Zaofu, but for you and the boys, too. You were free to make mistakes. I wasn't. You got to choose what to do with your lives. I got to be Dad's assistant."

Now Opal interjected, "I thought you _liked _being Dad's assistant, Baatar. I thought you enjoyed the work very much."

"I did. Most of the time, anyway." Baatar managed to lift his head a bit. "But it was more than that. You and the boys had something that made you special, something that made you…well, _you._ You, in particular, became even more special when you developed airbending. That left me as the only Beifong member without any bending abilities whatsoever."

At this, Opal sat stock-still, her moist eyes wide and disbelieving.

Baatar shook his head as he murmured, "Then Kuvira told me of her plans for the Earth Kingdom, and it all sounded so right at the time. Here, I thought, was my chance to do something entirely of my own accord. To prove to the world—and Mom and Dad—what I could_ really_ do."

He paused, then added as softly as ever, "And it was that pride that blinded me. I was too proud, too persistent…and I loved Kuvira far, far too much to see what she and I were doing, what we were both becoming. Too bad it took such a close call with that spirit energy cannon to finally knock some sense into me."

After another lengthy silence, Opal whispered, "Wow. Just…wow. I had no idea you'd felt that way, Baatar."

Seeing things from her brother's perspective, she now began to understand him and empathize with him as she never had before.

As he had said, his reasons didn't justify his actions, but she found she couldn't resent him anymore. If anything, she could only feel pity now, along with a touch of shame that she had never realized—or made any effort to find out—his true feelings.

Raking both hands through his hair, Baatar mumbled, "I wish I could go back and change certain things. I know that's impossible, of course. But believe me, Opal, I would do _anything_ to make up for what I've done."

"Sounds like we _all _have a lot to make up for," Opal said, so softly that she wasn't sure Baatar heard her.

When his gaze met hers once more, he asked in his humblest tone, "Will you forgive me, Opal? I don't mean right now, or anytime soon. But one day, someday, hopefully—"

"Baatar."

"What?"

"Save your breath. I forgive you."

He blinked, unsure of whether his ears heard right. "What did you say?"

"I said, I forgive you."

"You…you do?"

"Yes, I do."

"You mean it?"

"From the bottom of my heart."

The look on his face reminded her of a drowning man who had just obtained an unexpected lifeline. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could hardly breathe; indeed, his very heart seemed to have stopped.

Opal smiled at him as her eyes welled up anew. "I love you, big brother."

Now a genuine smile lit up Baatar's eyes, even as they also filled past the brim. "And I love you, baby sister."

Wiping at her eyes, she asked with a thick half-laugh, "Now, you're not going to get all mushy on me, are you?"

"Perish the thought," he countered even as the tears flowed without restraint.

Almost without realizing it, she got up from the bed and made a beeline to him. He opened his arms and she burrowed as deeply into them as was possible. He went so far as to lift her into his lap, something he had almost never done since she was little. She never would have expected a gesture like this, yet she never resisted in any way.

Not another word passed between the two of them.

But they stayed like that well into the night, hugging until it hurt and crying until they couldn't cry anymore.

Opal ended up falling asleep in Baatar's arms, and rather than wake her, he simply carried her to the bed, tucked her in, kissed her forehead, and doused the light as he slipped away.


End file.
